I thought I was free. I had cleaned up my schedule to a few covers, mostly with long deadlines, and a coupla commissions. I had finished my Fans run. I was looking forward to a leisurely month of painting, the vacation to PA I’m taking this weekend, and finishing my walrus.
And then the e-mail came that said “Hey, can we get five interior illos in three weeks?”
And all that was heard of Ursula was a faint, sad, glooping noise, as mud and algae rushed into her lungs and she vanished into the dark waters of work.
Disclaimer: NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING, MIND YOU. I’m glad to have work. Delighted! I’m glad they liked my past work enough to request more! As a freelancer, I know that work must be treasured and cherished and clutched to one’s heaving bosom and so forth.
But damnit, I’m never gonna finish my walrus at this rate…
